Two Faced Woman. Lucy Gordon
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One of the men was squat and nondescript, and made busy notes the whole time. The other was in his mid-thirties and handsome in a fleshy way. He leaned back in his chair, right foot crossed over left knee, hands clasped behind his head, and regarded the procession with bored disdain. “Is this the best you can get, Des?” he demanded at last with a yawn.
Des, the squat one, who ran the nightclub on a day-to-day basis, grew aggrieved. “I think they’re a pretty good bunch, Lucky.”
“Pretty good? They look like showgirls.”
“Well, they are showgirls.”
“Then they’re not good enough for me. The hostesses in this club must look like ladies. I had a cabinet minister in here last night. That’s the kind of clientele I want, and you don’t get it without class. Get rid of this crowd.”
“You haven’t seen them all yet—”
“I said, get rid of them. All right, girls, that’s it.”
“Not yet, it isn’t.”
Both men turned at the sound of a husky voice that came from just behind them. A tall woman wearing a long silk jacket and silver high-heeled sandals sauntered past and placed herself in front of them. “You haven’t seen me yet, Mr. Driver,” she said firmly, but in an enticing voice.
“Get lost!” Des ordered. “Auditions are closed for the day.”
“Shut up, Des!” Lucky said, suddenly alert. His sharp eyes were fixed on the newcomer. “What’s your name?”
The woman gently touched the very fair hair that swirled like a halo around her head and down onto her shoulders. “They call me Silver,” she murmured. “And I’m a lady.”
“You sure are,” Lucky breathed. “And one hell of a woman. All right, let’s see what you can do.”
For answer Silver stepped onto the low cabaret stage and slipped off the jacket, revealing a perfect, long-limbed body attired in a minuscule white bikini. “I do this,” she said simply, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lucky gulp.
She began to sing. It was a simple song with a narrow range that she could just encompass, but Lucky wasn’t listening to the notes. He was hearing the promise in the throaty tone, and watching what she did with the silk jacket. In Debbie’s hands the garment seemed to become something else. She twisted and turned, slithering it over her body so that she revealed tantalizing glimpses of herself and hid them again immediately. As the song ended she slipped the jacket on and buttoned it up to the throat, standing there, hands outstretched toward Lucky.
He sat motionless, his attention riveted on her. Debbie was reminded of a steer she’d once seen in a slaughterhouse. The beast had been humanely stunned first, and for a second had stood staring, poleaxed, before passing out. Now she saw the same blank, stupid expression on the face of the man she’d heard of as one of the most dangerous in London.
At last he seemed to recover his wits, and with them, his power of movement. He strode to a door at the side of the stage and looked back at her, snapping his fingers and jerking his head. “You—my office.” When Debbie didn’t move, he said impatiently, “Don’t you hear me?”
“I hear you, Mr. Driver.”
“Then what’s keeping you?”
“I don’t respond to having fingers snapped at me.”
Lucky spoke with an edge on his voice. “Will you oblige me by coming to my office?”
“Certainly.” Debbie sailed past him through the door.
His office was dark and masculine with oak paneling and a thick, velvety carpet. Debbie sat down in the chair he indicated. Lucky touched a switch that made a panel swing open, revealing a drinks cabinet. He poured two glasses of champagne and handed her one.
Debbie shook her head. “You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” she reproved. “I’ll have mineral water, please.”
Lucky made a wry face and poured her some mineral water. “A lady who knows her own mind. All right, but mineral water is poor stuff to celebrate the start of our association.”
“I wonder if our association is going to be something I’ll want to celebrate,” Debbie said.
He perched on the edge of his desk and looked down at her. “It will be, Silver. You’ll find that I treat my girls well.”
“But I’m not a girl, Mr. Driver, and I don’t like being called one.”
A flash of temper hardened Lucky’s brown eyes to stones. “And I don’t like a woman who keeps putting me in my place. You’re just an employee, don’t forget that.”
“But I’m not your employee, Mr. Driver, and I’m never going to be. You don’t treat me with respect and I don’t like that. So why don’t we just stop wasting each other’s time?”
Debbie rose to go. Quick as a flash Lucky put himself between her and the door. “Hey, don’t be so touchy,” he rallied. “I forgot my manners. I apologize.”
She gave him the full blast of her most dazzling smile. “Your apology is accepted.” She reseated herself, but when he held out the glass of mineral water, she shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have champagne after all.”
This time Lucky laughed. “You sure like to give a guy the runaround, don’t you?”
“Most of them don’t mind, actually.”
“I’ll bet they don’t.” He gave her champagne and she sipped it, looking at him over the rim, eyes twinkling.
She knew she presented a perfect picture, from her silvery fair hair to her long, silver-painted fingernails and silver toenails. Lucky seemed to think so, too, because he drew in a long, happy breath. “Tell me about yourself,” he invited. “Have you done much of this kind of work before?”
“I’ve been around nightclubs a lot,” Debbie said, going into a story she’d agreed on with Jake. “My husband owned one in Paris and I helped him run it.”
“Husband?” Lucky’s eyes dwelt on her bare left hand.
“My marriage is over,” Debbie assured him. “I don’t know where Jean-Pierre is now, except that he’s on the run from the law somewhere.” She allowed a brave, waiflike expression to flit across her face. “At one time I had a lot of money, but the crash left me without anything. Now I have to earn my living again.”
The tale had been neatly crafted to suggest that she was used to existing on the wrong side of the law and asking no questions. Lucky studied her speculatively for a moment before refilling her glass. “What exactly did you used to do in this nightclub?” he asked.
“A little singing, a little dancing, but mostly I kept the customers happy. They knew I was the proprietor’s wife and they appreciated that little extra attention.” She looked deeply into Lucky’s eyes. “I’m very good at the little extras, Mr. Driver.”
“My name’s Lucky,” he said in a thick voice that sounded as if he were having trouble with his collar.
“Lucky by name and Lucky by nature?” she teased.
“Well, today is sure my lucky day.”
Debbie looked at him enigmatically. “I hope you’ll always think so,” she murmured.
He grinned. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. You treat me right and I’ll treat you right. I’ve got big plans for you, Silver. You’re going to be a star. I’ll spend a fortune making you look good.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need your money to make me look good, Lucky,” she said.
“Of course you don’t. I just meant, nothing but the best for you. Here...” He opened a wall safe and took out a box, which he thrust into her hand. “Open